In my experience, writing a novel tends to create its own structure, its own demands, its own language, its own ending.

Doesn't our knowledge of death make life more precious?' What good is a preciousness based on fear and anxiety? It's an anxious quivering thing

What we are reluctant to touch often seems the very fabric of our salvation.

Ask yourself this question. Do we have to be humans forever? Consciousness is exhausted. Back now to inorganic matter. This is what we want. We want to be stones in a field.

I'm not reclusive at all. Just private.

In cities no one notices specific dying. Dying is a quality of the air. It's everywhere and nowhere.

There is a world inside the world.